Böetk
by hijinklum
Summary: A collection of short stories based around Alagaesia. The will span before Eragon's time, occasionally during the books, and post-canon. Rating raised to T because of chapter 4.
1. Sweater

**Sweater **

Snuggling closer into the soft fabric of her shirt, she smiles.

She can never remember what the thing is actually called - it's some human fabrication, really just a long-sleeved shirt made of cotton, with slight cuffs on the wrists and a scooped neckline, felted on the inside and smooth on the outside- that a friend from far away had sent her.

It smelt of salt air, dragon scales, and another warm and musky scent she can't quite name.

She doesn't care that she's worn it so many times over the last few years that the thread in the right cuff was coming loose, or that there is a cut in the hem at the back where she shifted in her sleep next to Firnen once, and an errant, jagged scale cut right through the soft cotton.

She knows all of these things, but she doesn't care, because it's one of the few things she has to remind her of the friend she lost across the sea.


	2. Introduction

**Introduction**

He'd been absolutely terrified, the first time they met. He had crept into the Vault, where eggs pledged to the Riders were kept between each Choosing, placed upon shelves in shallow depressions , equidistant apart, with rows and rows of shelves leading back into the dark. Eggs of a hundred different colours glinted like jewels in the scant light of the torch he carried.

He didn't know why he had listened to them. A few of the older boys, with partners-of-heart-and-mind of their own had taunted him, laughing that he wasn't brave enough to enter the huge hall. If Father or one of the Watchers found him, he would be punished severely.

I had best get this over and done with. He thought to himself.

Looking over the shelves that he could reach, his eyes alighted on a brilliant purple egg, veins of light grey running through it.

Screwing up the last dregs of his courage, he extended his hand forwards, fingers then whole hand laying upon the cool surface. Just as he was about to withdraw and scamper to the novice barracks to brag about his experience, something happened: a crack appeared upon the spotless surface. Before he could do so much as squeak, the shell exploded outwards. In its place sat a happy looking hatchling, licking egg gunk from his miniature claws.

Then, skin met tiny scaled brow, and a partnership that would last a lifetime began.


	3. Discovery

**Discovery-**

The heavy, solid weight at his hip is soothing. It has been his companion for only a short while now, but it is reassuring nonetheless. Taking a deep breath, he straightens his shoulders, brushes across the small canvas bag at his side with the tips of his fingers, and ascends to the stage. After waiting impatiently for what seems to be an eternity, his chance to speak finally comes around.

He stands in the middle of the raised ledge of pine, and takes a long, calming breath. He always hated public speaking. With dozens of pairs of huge, slanted eyes watching him curiously, he draws his secret from its protective case. Raising it above his head with both hands, silence falls upon the crowd.

The long, white egg shines like moonstone in the dim light that is filtering down from between the close-thatched needles of the pines.

Little does he know -or rather, he knows it with painful intimacy- that this moment will irrevocably change the future of the world.


	4. Own Worst Enemy

**Own Worst Enemy –**

_A.N: This is a trigger warning. Mentions of self-harm, so you may want to take a moment to consider before you read this one. Views and reviews are appreciated._

When the memories threaten to overwhelm her, she scratches. It used to happen multiple times a day, surges of old memories so powerful that she would buckle under their weight. Whole body shaking, terror once again threatening to take over her after so many years, she would stumble to the bathroom and lock the door behind her. She would step into the shower, often fully clothed, and wrench open the tap for hot water.

Sitting under the scalding spray, she would scrub at herself with her nails until the memories washed down the drain with the blood on her skin. It was never in any obvious places; it wouldn't do for her subjects to see her with great long wounds on her arms, now would it? No, she makes the marks on the tops of her legs, or her hips or even her ribs.

Some part of her knows that it isn't good, that she needs to talk to someone and get help, but then she remembers the relief that comes with the wounds. Some dark, twisted part of her subconscious whispers tantalizing words in her ears. The rational side is soon drowned out.

Knowing that there is a way to banish the demons that inhabit her mind soothes her in a way that _nothing_ else can.

It hurts Firnen to know that this is the only way she can cope, because he knows in the end that she is her own worst enemy.


	5. Open

**Open-  
**He could always read his first student like an open book.

Having been his sole caretaker since the boy was tiny; he knew his habits inside and out. For example, he stomped his left foot hard enough to make it tingle when he was angry, slept stretched out like one of the starfish that occasionally washed up on the shore, and ran his hands through his hair when he was upset or feeling guilty.

Thus, it was not very surprising when he meekly walked towards him from the open door of his office; fingers wrapped tightly in his own hair, staring at the smooth oak of the floor, his dragon Zmey hiding behind his legs.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin, Ebrithil"he mumbled towards his boots. Even when he was mildly worried, he remembered his manners. "Good afternoon, Esben. How can I help you this fine day?"

If it was possible, the boy paled further, barely managing to stutter out a few garbled syllables. Eragon took a breath, smiled slightly, and knelt to the small boy's height. He tapped under his chin with a finger, making the boy raise his head. "What's broken this time, huh?" he asked quietly, one eyebrow arching. The boy's tiny acknowledgement of "the bookshelf" was almost too quiet for him to hear.

_How did he get to the bookshelf? It's easily twice his height! _Pushing away that thought for later, he smiled back at his pupil.

"Well then, my little bear, we'd best see what we can do about that then!" With a laugh, he swooped forwards and threw the boy over his shoulder. Zmey chirruped in excitement, leaping onto his Rider's back, and Eragon jogged through the open door, tickling at the two laughing children.


End file.
